Absolution Creek (22 page)

Chapter 17

‘A
re they asleep?’

Sam was huddled in a weathered cane chair outside their bedroom, a bottle of rum in one hand, cigarette in the other. It was easily one of the coldest spots to sit. A sharp wind had arrived with the night and it rushed the length of the veranda, carrying earthy unknown scents.

Meg closed the door to the twins’ room. ‘They’re exhausted. It’s cold out here.’

‘Half their luck. Three hours I’ve been awake. You?’ He took a swig from the rum bottle and flicked ash on the floor.

Even if Meg hadn’t been kept awake listening to Sam’s brain turning over, she knew sleep was impossible. ‘Where did you find that rum?’

‘Can you believe this place? There’s a great tree growing out of her bedroom, straight through the roof, if you please.’ He took another swig and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘An outside dunny – now that’s modernity for you.’ He tapped his foot on the floorboards. ‘The foundations are buggered, some of the walls have great gaping cracks in them, and here we are sitting down to dinner like she’s lady muck. And wait for it –’ he waved his arm around as if presenting a prize ‘– no staff.
We’re
the staff.’ The end of his cigarette glowed brightly. ‘Top that off with an attitude that would tell her own grandmother to go suck eggs and, geez, well that aunt of yours wrapped you up good and tight. We’ve landed ourselves in a right dump, we have. Well done.’

Meg snatched the rum bottle from his hand. ‘Stop it, just stop it. Sometimes I don’t know why I married you.’

‘Sure you do, Meg,’ he slurred, ‘you did it to spite your mother.’ He whipped the bottle from her hand and dropped his cigarette butt on the veranda, grinding it in with his heel. Then he walked away.

Picking up the butt, Meg peered out at the dense blackness and returned, shivering, to their bedroom. She tossed the remains of Sam’s cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and crawled into bed. The yellow shade on the bedside lamp reflected a halo of light on the freshly painted walls, the only bright part of the one-window room, which was otherwise cramped with dark wooden furniture. When she turned on her side the brass bed squeaked and swayed; when she pulled at the covers the springs poked and pinged. No wonder sleep was impossible. Meg squirmed her way to the middle of the bed and lay very still. She could see part of the cornice had split and was protruding slightly from the wall. Dirt, dust and leaves were partially visible beneath it. The house really was in disrepair. What had she done bringing her family here?

From the ceiling came a scurrying noise. There was a whoosh of wind through trees, the lone mournful howl of a dog and then the sound of something sliding down the corrugated-iron roof. Meg thought of the great tree above her, its outstretched arms protecting her family, and finally slept.

She woke to a blast of freezing air and Sam’s finger poking at her shoulder. ‘There’s someone walking around outside.’ The lamp was still burning, and from behind him the open door revealed the night. Her brain fought the urgent awakening.

‘I was in the kitchen and I could have sworn someone walked straight past me. I heard the back door slam. It’s after midnight.’

Meg tried to stir some saliva in her mouth. ‘I suppose you finished the bottle?’

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m serious, Meg.’

‘Well, it could be Cora or your imagination.’

‘Aren’t you worried?’

‘Believe me, I’ve got plenty of things to be worried about, and spooks are not one of them.’

‘Fine.’ Sam lay down fully clothed beside her and within minutes began to snore.

Meg turned the light off and tucked her head under the pillow, then threw it across the room as Sam let out a snore that was accompanied by a series of loud belches. She crept from the bedroom silently and padded along the veranda. She was of a mind to go to the toilet, however the night’s shadows and coldness put her off what would be a sprint in the dark to the long-drop. Instead she hung on the veranda, staring at a crescent moon, her feet aching with cold.

There was movement: a flicker of something beyond the shadowy outline of trees. The moon profiled the elongated A-frame of the windmill as it turned, a continuous low whine marking each rotation. Into Meg’s field of vision walked a horse from the direction of the dam. A scattering of kangaroos moved in tandem as the horse lifted his head and whinnied. A second figure appeared, a person with hands outstretched as if in supplication to the moon. Meg, unsure of what she was witnessing, backed into her bedroom and closed the door.

Penny and Jill took the egg basket from their mother and smiled sweetly in unison.

‘So, all you have to do is walk straight into the chook yard,’ Meg reminded them. ‘No dawdling.’

‘We know, Mum,’ Jill answered. ‘The rooster won’t hurt us and the hens won’t peck us.’

‘Zactly,’ Penny confirmed with a single nod of her head. ‘And we’ll get all the googy-eggs.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’ Meg wondered how she would ever catch up on her chores this morning. It had taken half an hour to get the wood stove roaring again after she had inadvertently let it go out. She couldn’t help it. Having spent forty minutes under Ellen’s watchful tutelage – learning how to skin membranes from kidneys and liver, and remove the veins from this favourite of bush breakfasts – she was beyond thinking. In fact, dry-retching was about the only thing on her mind; that and having to cook the awful stuff. It was 9.30 am; Cora usually returned by eleven at the latest.

‘We can do it, Mum.’ Jill backed away down the path.

‘Mummy always shuts the gate. You will remember to shut the gate?’ Meg cautioned.

Both girls nodded their heads. ‘Yes, Mum.’

‘Hmm.’ Meg looked at her two daughters, their hands clasped around the wooden handle of the basket. In the doe-eyed silent pleading that followed, the twin tub washing machine started to make an ominous clunking noise, and the telephone rang.

‘Okay, go.’ Was that their ring? Meg wondered as three longish
bring bring brings
echoed through the house. Still unused to the party-line system of communication, Meg decided against answering it. Cora explained that if in doubt when it came to deciphering the morse-code rings she should simply pick the receiver up and listen. It was an open line between the five households and it appeared no conversation was sacred, for if your neighbour wasn’t listening in to your call the telephonist at the local post office probably would be. The phone rang out.

Jill and Penny slipped through the back gate and ran towards the chook yard.

‘Doggies,’ Jill called, dropping to her stockinged knees in the dirt. Penny followed suit. Soon Tripod and Curly were licking their faces, and knocking both girls onto their bottoms in excitement. Tripod nosed the empty basket and Curly gave it a quick chew. Eventually Jill tired of the game. ‘Go away,’ she said with her best frown. Pulling her sister to her feet they walked to the chook yard. On their approach the rooster appeared from the rear of the yard to take up his normal sentry position near the gate. Jill looked over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think the dogs are meant to be here.’

The dogs were sitting to attention, eyeballing the rooster. Curly took a step forward. The rooster bobbed his head and crowed indignantly. Tripod hopped forward.

‘Why, will they eat the eggs?’ Penny asked.

‘No, but the chickens don’t like the dogs. Remember? Aunt Cora told us that.’

Tripod and Curly began to growl softly.

The rooster walked towards the gate.

‘You can get the eggs,’ Penny said, shoving the basket at her sister.

Jill looked at the rooster. Some of the hens had stopped their dirt pecking and were waiting expectantly, their heads darting from side to side.

‘Look, the doggies are coming,’ Penny squealed.

Jill took the basket and checked the steady progress of the dogs, who were about ten feet away. She was sure Curly had a smile on his face.

‘Are you a scaredy-cat?’ Penny asked, her small hand reaching for the gate’s latch.

The rooster was stamping his clawed feet. Puffs of dust were rising in the air. Jill slipped through the gate, followed the chicken wire wall around to the laying boxes and quickly gathered the eggs.

‘Hurry up, Jill!’ Penny called as the chook yard disintegrated into a deafening noise of squawking hens. The rooster flapped his burnished red wings and raced to the gate, where Curly had sneaked up behind Penny.

‘Open the gate,’ Jill hollered as she tried to shadow the chicken wire and escape the screeching hens.

Penny lifted the latch, took a step backwards and promptly fell over Curly. The rooster was out the gate in an instant, running head down like a one-hundred-yard track star. Jill slammed the gate closed and together the girls took off in pursuit of the rooster, who had the lead on both Curly and Tripod.

‘Trouble,’ Penny squealed excitedly as they stumbled across the rough dirt road in the direction of the homestead.

‘Big trouble,’ Jill agreed, as the rooster disappeared into the garden.

Cora arrived back from her morning ride quite refreshed considering the length of time she’d been in the saddle. Having decided to leave Harold and his two protégés – Sam and Kendal – to their mustering job, her own ride out to the north-west boundary had been uneventful. Her annoyance at Kendal’s presence was soon eradicated by a band of gradually lighter blues, which signified the dawning of a perfect day. It had been two weeks since her niece’s arrival and the household had settled into a wary armistice that may not have come about were it not for the presence of Meg’s girls. Penny and Jill were dear little children who played, argued and cried as if each day were their last. Despite Cora’s limited experience with anyone under twenty years of age, she had already grown fond of them, especially as she saw them only a few hours each day.